


Sherrie's Story - Riding an Angel

by Periphyton



Series: An Angel's Touch [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angelic technical skills with blessings, Aziraphale makes consent sexy, Aziraphale takes pride in his work, F/M, Hot sexy hunk of an angel, Hurt/Comfort, Outsiders POV, mention of past incest, mention of past sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-29 21:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20088895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periphyton/pseuds/Periphyton
Summary: “Dearest, look at me,” he gestured down over his body. “I’m not skinny. I’m not some twiggy bloke in skinny jeans with hips the Lord gave a snake. I’m a big guy and I got everything I need for a lady like you. You can’t hurt me, and I won’t let you fall.”“You’re sure?”“I’m sure. Just keep the hat on and it will work.”





	Sherrie's Story - Riding an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of six stories exploring how Aziraphale does his job, blessing people and making their lives better. Sometimes the best way - sometimes the only way - to do that is with sex. This isn't as much about his sexuality as how he uses sex and sexuality to reach people when they need it the most. 
> 
> Watch the tags - there will be references to sexual abuse, incest, prostitution, internalized homophobia, suicidal tendency/ depression, and other things as they come up. But these issues are brought up as context, not in explicit details. I'm saving the details for Aziraphale's work! 
> 
> Crowley will be there in context, in Aziraphales thoughts, and a cameo appearance, but these are stories about Aziraphale and how he interprets his job as an angel.

Sherrie’s Story – Riding an Angel  
By Periphyton

Sherrie sat down at the truck stop and ordered a hard drink and a salad. She was on a new diet and a hard drink had fewer calories, plus it would get her drunk enough to have sex with someone faster than beer. Beer had too many carbs and she was fat enough already. Her latest ex-boyfriend may have been a total loser but he was right about that. 

She took a slug of her drink, winced, looked at the limp lettuce and pinkish tomato on her plate, and winced again. There had to be some man around here more appetizing than this. Sherrie looked around – just the normal mix, nothing she hadn’t seen in every bar and dive her entire life. No, wait, right next to her sat a total hunk. How could she have missed this earlier? Tall, fluffy blond curls, maybe twentyish, wide boyish face with a slight stubble. He wore faded jeans over thighs a woman could sit on, and a blue, cream, and brown plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped out over a plain white cotton undershirt. On one fleshy bicep was a tattoo of angel wings framing a flaming sword with a snake around it, it’s mouth open and hissing with fangs barred. 

“May I have the appetizer platter? And a Newcastle Ale, thanks love,” he ordered with a wink to the waitress. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. This hot hunk of a man was British. That accent was straight out her childhood, watching whatever was on PBS when she was home by herself. He was way too good for her, but maybe if he was drunk enough for a quickie she’d have something to remember. Something, anything, from outside of the life she was stuck in. She finished her drink in one gulp. His plate came, and she watched out of the corner of her eye how much he was enjoying the basic boring appetizers. 

“Deep fried pickles! Look at this, who would have thought to fry a pickle.” He turned to her and looked at her with those blue eyes. “Seriously, what stroke of genius was it to look at a pickle and think to batter it up and fry it?” He took a bite. “Whoever it was, God bless ‘em. Here, you should try this.” He handed her another fried pickle.

“Oh, no, I’m on a diet –“ 

“Well I’m not, so try it for me please?” He smiled at her with a slight tilt of his head.

At that moment Sherrie’s stomach gurgled and she gave in. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been eating cheap fried food all her life but somehow seeing how much this English hunk enjoyed it made it taste new, as if it was her first time tasting the contrast between the crunchy, rich batter and the crisp, sour pickle. Then before she could figure out how it happened there was a second plate in front of her and they were sharing every appetizer on the menu, laughing, and making silly faces with each bite. She had a proper beer in her hand, and it must have been the alcohol that gave her the courage to ask, “Do you wanna go to my place for a main course?” It was definitely the beer speaking, not the way he looked at her like she was beautiful because she knew she wasn’t.

“’Twould be my pleasure. And maybe even dessert.” He smiled at her. She knew the difference between a drunken leer and a smile, and this was an actual smile. A very interested smile, but still a smile. He paid up and they left. 

“I’m Ezra Fell, by the way,” he said as they walked to her trailer.

“That’s nice. I’m Sherrie.” It should have been awkward but it wasn’t. Ezra just wasn’t awkward at all about walking into a trailer court to have sex with someone he had only shared appetizers with. He chatted easily with her about nothing, and she laughed because it was nice. 

It wasn’t until they got to her trailer that her nerves started up. She wasn’t so drunk that she couldn’t feel anything, and feeling things during sex was usually more than she could deal with. But she wanted to, this time. Oh how she wanted to let herself stay in her body for this man, instead of locking herself in her head like she had done since the very first time her uncle had started paying special attention to her when she was a little girl. But it was so scary.  
“Do you want more beer? Or something harder? I’ve got vodka, whiskey, gin –“ she blurted out as they walked to her room. 

“No, thank you. I would prefer to stay sober for the main course. But only if you want to.” She turned and looked at him, desperate and panicky. “Only if you want to, Sherrie. I want to show you how beautiful you are, but only – only – if you want to.”

Sherrie looked at him, and wanted to believe. Wanted to believe that if she said no, he would leave without a fuss. Wanted to believe that he was telling her the truth about her being beautiful. Wanted to believe that a man who could hold cheap greasy truck stop food so delicately would touch her the same way. Wanted to believe that it would matter that she could choose to say yes. He just stood there waiting for her answer, not shuffling in annoyance, rocking back and forth, or making any impatient noises. Not a single line of his body indicated anything other than the willingness to let her decide if she wanted to have sex or not. 

Finally she nodded. “Yes. Yes I want to. With you,” she whispered. 

He smiled, and it made the world beautiful. He stepped over to her and held out his arms and she took them and came in close for a kiss. 

That kiss started everything. Into her bed, kick off the blanket, strip off their clothes as fast as possible - he had a belt buckle with white and silver angel wings. Then he was kissing her, her neck, her shoulder, while his hands moved across her body. Not every kiss he planted on her body was gentle, but every time he touched her body she felt beautiful, especially when he touched her breasts. He touched and kissed every fold, every love handle, and ran his hands over the curve of her belly holding it like it was precious. Then he went further down stroking her hips and thighs. His hands slid underneath the fold of her belly with his thumbs resting in her curls, brushing over the edge to open her up. 

“Hey Sherrie, do you want me to?” 

She looked down at him, feeling with every nerve exactly where his thumbs were, and watched him lick his lips.  
“Oh GOD YES! YES!!!!” The way he had enjoyed eating a fried pickle . . . . That was the last articulate sound she made until time started existing again. 

When he was done she lay there boneless and glowing from the orgasm. She had stayed in her body the entire time, and it had felt better than anything she had ever endured in her life. He lay next to her, stroking her hair and whispering sweet nothings about how much fun that had been. It wasn’t until she rolled over towards him that she felt a poke on her thigh and looked down. Jesus, he was still hard, and had done nothing about it while she basked in her afterglow. He also had the most beautiful dick she had ever seen, with it’s own little fluffy bed of curls barely darker than the ones on his head. 

“Ohh, do you want me to – do you need to –“ she trailed off and nodded downwards.

“Oh my, that.” He looked down at himself, almost like he’d forgotten it was there. “About that. I’ve, well, it’s a bit of a fantasy, I hope it’s not too much, if you wouldn’t mind –“

“Anything.” She whispered to him, and she meant it. This beautiful man could do anything he wanted to her. Pin her down, tie her up, push her against the wall, the sink, the table, bend her over backwards, take her up the ass, demand a blow job. She’d do anything for him, and even do it willingly.

He swallowed, his eyes never leaving hers. “Cowgirls.” He said faintly.  
“What?”

“Cowgirls. I’ve always wanted to try – you know, Ride ‘em Cowboy, Yahoo!” He said enthusiastically with a little wiggle.

That startled her into a laugh. He had tried to say ‘Ride ‘em Cowboy’ with an American accent straight from a bad western TV show. It was so bad that she couldn’t help but laugh, and he started laughing with her. “You wanna have some American Cowgirl ride you? That’s it? That’s your fantasy?”

“Yeah,” he blushed. “And you’re so sexy and sweet. If you want to, I’m yours to ride.” He gave his thigh a meaty slap, causing things to wiggle a bit more.

“Hang on. Just, stay right there.” She got up and went to her closet to get the tackiest cheap Halloween felt cowboy hat in existence. The trim was falling off and one side was permanently squashed in, but she wore it standing naked before him and posed like she was shaking a lasso. “Like this?”

“Yahooo!!” he said, bracing himself against the bed and grinning wildly. 

“Yahoo!” she repeated and whooped again, pretending to catch him with her imaginary lasso. If this was his sexual fantasy she wasn’t going to disappoint him. She had no idea sex could be this much fun! It wasn’t until she came to lean over him that she clutched up. Leaning over him with her dangling boobs? Squashing him under her fat butt? What was she thinking?!?!?! 

“Sherrie? Is everything ok?” Ezra watched her carefully, looking concerned when she hesitated.

“I – I – ah, are you sure you want this with me? What if I’m too fat and I – “

“Dearest, look at me,” he gestured down over his body. “I’m not skinny. I’m not some twiggy bloke in skinny jeans with hips the Lord gave a snake. I’m a big guy and I got everything I need for a lady like you. You can’t hurt me, and I won’t let you fall.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Just keep the hat on and it will work.”

She kept the hat on. He held her waist carefully at first, as she figured out easing herself onto him. The sounds he made under her were encouraging and he felt so good inside her. She started rocking, then whooping and hollering like a cowgirl riding a bucking bronco. He laughed and gasped as his hips moved under hers. It didn’t matter that her boobs dangled or her butt was too fat, this beautiful man wanted her on top of him, and he was laughing even as he came inside her because this was just so much fun.

Finally they slowed down, out of breath but very happy. She rolled off him and laid beside him, memorizing every line of his face, every curl, every dimple. Never in her entire life could she have imagined a night like this. 

Ezra stoked her hair. “Promise me something?” he asked her softly.

“Mmmm. Anything.”

“Promise me you will never forget feeling loved like this.”

That was too much. She sniffed and closed her eyes against tears. “I promise,” she whispered around the lump in her throat. 

“Good. Never forget to love yourself, ever again. When you find a man who loves you like this, be brave and let him love you. And be brave enough to love him back.” He leaned over and kissed her sweaty forehead. “Be Blessed, Sherrie.”

*********

Aziraphale was back at the truck stop, leaving Sherrie asleep in her trailer. There wasn’t anywhere better to eat in three counties and he had worked up an appetite.  
“That was a good thing you did, hon,” 

"Hm, what, excuse me?” He blinked at the waitress, standing there with a cup of coffee and another plate of appetizers.

“Takin’ Sherrie home, showing her a good time. She’s a sweet girl, and deserves better than those losers she keeps pickin’ up. Here, on the house.” She put it down in front of him, and gave him a wink before going to get some more beers for another table.

He smiled at her. Yes, Sherrie was sweet, that’s why he had picked her out. His instructions hadn’t been that specific – he’d just been given coordinates and told to improve the local morale. But after a transatlantic flight, American TSA agents, and a Greyhound overnight ride to get here, he’d be damned if all his did was fluff his feathers in the town square at midnight and leave. Small communities can hinge on one person, their influence rippling from one connection to another. He had sensed the potential in Sherrie, and the blessing he had left on her would last for the rest of her life while her natural generosity would spread it out through the area with every person she met, and down through at least a generation or two. The, ah, intensity of their encounter helped to secure it deeply within her, reinforcing his blessing to withstand the all the pressures on her to return a life of no self-esteem, too much alcohol and all the wrong men. 

He took a bite of the cheesy bacon fries and wondered what Crowley would think if he saw him like this (1). That infernal demon would probably tease him mercilessly for wearing a tartan plaid shirt and jeans, to say nothing of the ridiculous tattoo. His default setting on his corporation was pale and blond, and it was comfortable to stay in his bowtie, waistcoat, and favorite coat. But that was no more what he really was than any other human guise he had worn over the last six thousand years. Tonight was just a chance for a little dress up, and anything more formal than this would have scared Sherrie off. He had left her his angel belt buckle, so she would have something she could hold and touch to remember her promise to him to love herself. 

The chicken strips weren’t even that bad although the mustard sauce had been made by the gallon and shipped in metal cans. If Crowley ever found out he was enjoying this he’d never hear the end of it. But it wasn’t always about posh quality, sometimes it was just about the love that came with the food. This had been given to him with love and that made it delicious, even the horrible burnt coffee.

Aziraphale finished the food and got up to leave. He had five more stops on this trip but it was very satisfying to get it started off so well. He left a substantial tip for the waitress and walked back out into the bright morning of a place that had been touched by an angel.

*******

1\. If Crowley had seen his stuffy, fussy angel in a ripped shirt, workman’s jeans, and a tattoo of angel wings with a flaming sword and a snake looking like he was a twenty year bar bloke he would have laughed hysterically and teased Aziraphale mercilessly, desperately trying to cover up how flustered he felt about at how SMOKING HAWT Aziraphale looked like that.


End file.
